


The Secret Stranger

by irislim



Category: Pride and Prejudice & Related Fandoms, Pride and Prejudice (1995), Pride and Prejudice (2005), Pride and Prejudice - Jane Austen
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Humor, Mistaken identities, Romance, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:01:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29102985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irislim/pseuds/irislim
Summary: Weighed down by the thoughts of recent events, Darcy takes a journey to Hertfordshire only to be intercepted by a small band of robbers. What exactly are his attackers after? Who is the maiden in front of him, and why can't he remember a thing past the attack? A light-hearted, if unrealistic, Regency AU.
Relationships: Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy
Comments: 36
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The premise of this story requires that both Elizabeth and the guest-starring attackers act extremely foolishly, even stupidly. I've received very legitimate complaints before that my villains tend to act very illogically in ways that convenience our heroes. I admit. They do.
> 
> For the sake of fanfiction, however, please suspend your disbelief with me again. This one will require a foolish Elizabeth, a clueless Darcy, and some very useless highwaymen - but they'll still mostly end up happy in the end :)

Another rut on the road jolts Darcy further away from sleep. It has been a rocky road - from Ramsgate to London to Meryton - and his journey has never felt longer than it does now.

Why did Georgiana act so foolishly? What would have happened without his timely arrival to a starry-eyed sister?

Darcy shudders at the potential variations playing with his mind. God forbid that any of them come to pass!

Disquieted, Darcy takes a peek outside the carriage window. The path is unfamiliar, but Bingley's instructions were clear enough. His sister's unfortunate circumstances may have caused him to delay, but Darcy is still determined to keep his promise to his friend.

He does not have many true ones, after all.

In his hand, Darcy holds the latest letter from Bingley - a friendly reminder of his previous agreement to help with his friend's new estate.

It is not a particularly tall order. Darcy has run Pemberley, Darcy House, and many of his lesser properties for years. Assisting Bingley in setting up a staff should be a straightforward task.

In fact, if there is anything _un_ -straightforward about the trip, it will in all probability be the unpredictable behavior of Miss Bingley whenever Darcy happens to be present.

Darcy sighs, on his own, in his rented carriage, at the thought of having to face yet another new neighborhood's assault upon his eligibility. He's never really preferred having the ladies fawn over him. But with every passing year - with every growth of his estate and increase of his stature and standing - the attentions have only multiplied. Nowadays, he can barely attend a simple dinner without some allusion to his single state and some appeal for some young lady's case.

Bingley's recent letter, while short, did recount the existence of a local family of five single daughters not far from Netherfield Park.

The very idea of any family having to court suitors for five daughters is frightening, and Darcy wishes Bingley were less friendly than he is.

If his friend were less neighborly, then perhaps Darcy could be excused from handling any company for the first two days of his arrival.

But to ask Bingley to cease making friends would be to ask the sun to stop shining.

It simply is never done.

For the first time in a very long fortnight, Darcy smiles subtly to himself. It would do him well to have some hearty male company. He would not see his cousin Richard until the following year - and, even then, their camaraderie would be subject to Aunt Catherine's keen and watchful eye. One can hardly let loose in front of such a harsh and biting woman.

And with his aunt's endless references to his non-existing engagement with Anne, no one can really blame Darcy for never truly feeling eager to go to Rosings.

A quick turn takes him due east. Darcy looks outside again. He catches a glimpse of a larger home through the thick of the woods. He supposes it's a view of Longbourn Estate, just as Bingley said.

With a sigh, a smaller one compared to the ones before, Darcy lowers the curtains and leans back against the cushioned seat. Soon, he will be required to entertain once more. Soon, his slight serving of solitude will be taken away like a snack consumed all too quickly.

He considers how much Bingley gushed - in a letter so brief - of the Meryton neighborhood and its occupants. His friend is clearly smitten.

Darcy smirks at the full knowledge that it takes much, much more to smite him. Even the most fashionable ladies of the first circles have never caught his fancy. How can a simple village make its mark upon him?

But he is here to keep a promise, and he will strive his best to remain unattached and tolerably pleasant in the process.

It should be easy enough with the help of -

The sound of two gunshots sends the horses reeling. Darcy finds himself tossed violently backwards. His hands grasp for purchase. The hour is early - for certain too early for Bingley to be awake.

Do his neighbors keep earlier hours?

The horses neigh. The driver shouts. Darcy struggles to shove himself upright. He considers in his mind how much he can part with to appease any aspiring robbers. He is glad, for once, that he left most of his notes behind in London.

More noises surround the carriage. His ears count a party of at least four men. He wonders how harsh they might be.

It is not his first brush with highwaymen. But he hopes, that if it is to be his last, it will be due to his general safety, not his demise.

"Inside!" Someone hollers.

Darcy struggles to push himself upright once more. His left foot remains trapped between the seat and the side of the carriage. He huffs at the effort to release it.

"Here!" Another voice shouts.

Darcy winces at the pain.

His head spins. He realizes belatedly that the back of his head must have hit the carriage roof.

"I can - "

"Got it!" The carriage door flings open. Darcy stares into the face of a bearded ruffian. The leader is flanked by two younger boys.

There is a hesitation in the man's eyes - a bewilderment.

Darcy wonders if his own trepidation is misguiding him.

"What do you want?" Darcy growls, the pain in his foot beginning to creep up his leg.

His attackers glance at each other - and strike him with the end of their gun.

The pain shoots through his head.

And the world grows dark.


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Once more, a reminder that in this story, Elizabeth is all heart, some brain, and very little common sense. Consider yourselves forewarned :)_

* * *

The hour is early - so early that only the birds and Elizabeth Bennet would venture past Longbourn's front door. Destined to live in a bustling country home of four sisters, Elizabeth finds her morning walks to be her only solace at times.

This morning is no different.

She skips along the path merrily, stopping now and then to admire the way the early morning rays peek through the branches to bask the luckier flowers in a lovely golden glow. The grass feels dewy under her feet; the subtle mist surrounds her with a heavenly outdoor scent.

In another life, Elizabeth believes herself to be a wood nymph or dryad.

It is unfortunate that this life condemns her to the bleary existence that is the second daughter of a country squire. Papa is everything one can hope for in a father - benevolent, wise, and kind. But Mama is, quite unfortunately, someone whose existence seldom lends itself to any feeling of gratefulness.

"Your basket, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth turns to smile at Sarah. The girl is young - but she is nothing if not the perfect handmaiden for the two eldest Bennet sisters. And despite having her pick of female company in her house, Elizabeth often prefers having young Sarah accompany her instead.

"Shall you join me this morning?" Elizabeth transfers the basket from her maid's hand to her own. It is a secret ritual of sorts - a secret kept mostly from Mama. Elizabeth rises so early and wanders so far so very often that Sarah has taken to packing some rolls and sweets for her every day. On most days, the basket returns without its original contents and full of beautiful flowers instead.

"Do you wish me to, Miss Lizzy?"

"Of course." Elizabeth smiles.

Armed with a new companion, Elizabeth walks with even lighter steps down the familiar path and onto the main road. She pauses at the spot where the paths met, considering for a fleeting moment which direction she wishes to have her ramble today.

"Sarah, do you think we ought to - "

Elizabeth stops breathing the moment she turns to view what lies to her right.

"Oh goodness!" she gasps, dodging quickly for the nearest tree as cover. Sarah wisely follows.

Down the road as it winds eastward, a carriage lies toppled on the road. A group of men - rough men, it seems by their attire - huddle together over the broken wheels and - _talk_.

Elizabeth frowns in puzzlement.

Why are the men not plundering the carriage? Or have they already murdered the poor occupants within?

From her station, Elizabeth can make out no crest on the carriage. It must be a rented transport, though a seemingly comfortable one.

"That was not how we were instructed!" The tallest though youngest-looking man in the group argues loudly.

The robbers are in discourse - and Elizabeth cannot, for the life of her, imagine what reason they have to delay.

If she were a smarter woman, Elizabeth would know that she should take advantage of the highwaymen's indecision to run quickly for help - to find brave and kindly neighbors who would aid the unfortunate victims of this apparent crime.

As she is more curious than wise, however, Elizabeth moves from her current perch to a closer one - and, without further thought, screams.

Her scream draws the attention of the men - who, to her great satisfaction, share a few quick looks with each other - before dispersing in their retreat.

"It worked!" Elizabeth exclaims, when every last one in the group has scrambled out of sight.

"Miss Lizzy," Sarah begins.

But Elizabeth has no time to talk, not like the robbers did - and she flies quickly to the site of the accident.

The driver of the carriage is gone, perhaps having fled with the robbers. Tangled in the heap of broken carriage, a tall man in gentlemen's clothing lies unconscious, his left leg trapped amongst the wreck. Elizabeth tries to free his leg. It takes many attempts, but with Sarah's help, they succeed at last.

And what a sight they make: a country lady, her very young maid, and an unnamed, unconscious gentleman lying between them.

The predicament is as fanciful as the premises of Elizabeth's favorite novels - and she _loves_ the romance of it all.

"Who do you think he is, Miss Lizzy?" Sarah asks, her eyes wary as she views the bruised man at their feet.

"I suppose he is not from here," Elizabeth muses. "But his clothes make him to appear quite wealthy. Oh, think what would have happened to him if we had not arrived, Sarah!"

Sarah looks uncertain of how to reply, causing Elizabeth to look elsewhere for affirmation.

"It is difficult to help him without knowing who he is." Elizabeth crouches on the ground to examine the man. Despite the awkwardness of his current reclining position, it is clear that the man is a handsome man. Elizabeth wonders if he is someone's new suitor, a knight riding in on his white horse only to be toppled from it. She wonders if he was a new buyer, perhaps someone searching for an estate like Mr. Bingley is. Or perhaps he could be someone even more fascinating - a nobleman, a prince, or a spy.

"Do you think he is French, Sarah?"

"I do not know what to think, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth nods contemplatively. What _is_ one to do with mysterious strangers one rescues from unfortunate robbers?

"Perhaps we shouldn't stay here too long, Miss Lizzy," Sarah reminds, when Elizabeth stands for an entire minute without speaking.

"We are quite exposed here," Elizabeth agrees. She looked quickly behind her. "Are we north of Longbourn?"

"Slightly northeast, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth nods, thinking.

"The cottage must not be far away."

"What cottage, miss?"

"The farmer's cottage - where Papa used to go when the house was too loud." Elizabeth explains.

"I do not know the cottage."

It dawns on Elizabeth then just how young and new to the household her favorite maid is.

"Its is no bother," Elizabeth declares. "We can help him there first - and perhaps dress his wounds. We can ask him who he is when he wakes."

"Alright then, Miss Lizzy."

And the two young women proceed to haul, tug, and carry the mysterious stranger to the small cottage - barley a cabin, truly - that is nestled right between Longbourn and its bigger neighbor Netherfield.

* * *

Elizabeth tends to her mysterious patient diligently in the cottage - from removing his coat to cutting his trouser leg to tending the wound with Papa's limited supplies. Sarah helps where she can, with a subtle nod and a quick set of fingers.

"Should we ask for help, Miss Lizzy?" Sarah asks, for the third time this morning, when they have finally finished all they can for the now-sleeping man.

"I doubt he is in much danger," Elizabeth replies.

"Perhaps Mr. Bennet can discover who he is."

"I can tell Papa myself." Elizabeth's eyes remain on the secret stranger. Even in his restless sleep, the man intrigues her. "Do you think he is royalty, Sarah? Perhaps he is traveling under the guise of being a regular gentleman."

"Miss Lizzy," Sarah chides.

Sarah can be wise beyond her years, at times.

Her wisdom can also be slightly annoying.

"Please prepare water, Sarah," Elizabeth requests.

Her maid obeys.

And her maid obeys for the rest of the day as Elizabeth wipes the strange man's brows and tests his temperature. Though never one for extensive indoor activity, Elizabeth has had her share of rag dolls and baby sisters.

Presented with a living, breathing human male doll - Elizabeth can't help but be intrigued.

"Does he need the doctor, Miss Lizzy?" Sarah asks when the mysterious man begins to shake.

Elizabeth observes the way his brow is creasing. He is not shaking from pain - but from thought.

"He is having nightmares."

"Should we wake him?"

"I can try."

Elizabeth shakes him by the shoulder. The frowning and shivering slows - but the man remains unconscious.

Now it is Elizabeth who frowns. "Let us wait for a day."

"Miss Lizzy - "

"We don't know who he is. There are people who may be trying to harm him," Elizabeth argues. She turns around to look at Sarah. "What if we inadvertently expose him to his enemies?"

Sarah looks as if she does not agree, but Sarah just nods. "Yes, Miss Lizzy."

Elizabeth contents herself with Sarah's begrudging support - and the two girls spend the rest of the day noting every slight change in the condition of their salvaged pet.

The stranger's breathing calms after the heat of noon.

"Miss Lizzy, they will search for you."

"Mama knows I wander far at times and do not care for meals."

"But if night falls - "

"We will make arrangements," Elizabeth assures her over-caring maid.

Sarah nods again.

The sun is on its way down. The temperatures are cooling.

Then the stranger coughs.

"Sarah!" Elizabeth calls out, reaching for the tea. Sarah promptly delivers the liquid.

The man is curling up, hands reaching for his head as if soothing some pain. Elizabeth helps him up to a seat. She offers him tea. The man takes a sip.

When the coughing stops, his eyes are open.

"Sir," Elizabeth addresses him gently. "Are you well?"

His eyes focus on her face - and then on Sarah's. His gaze spends a few moments darting around their surroundings. The cottage is sparse but well furnished. It may be a foreign place to him, but the situation should be quite clear.

"Sir?" Elizabeth tries again.

"May I please know where I am?" The man's voice is hoarse. He pants between words. His right hand grasps at Elizabeth's forearm as if it were a rail.

"Hertfordshire," Elizabeth replies. She feels hopeful now, glad that he appears to be a man of breeding and good sense. "Your carriage was attacked by a group of robbers. My maid and I arrived before they were able to harm you further."

"You and - " He takes in Sarah and Elizabeth once more. "You saved me."

Elizabeth feels a slight blush. "To the best of our abilities, sir. My father owns this cottage. You were accosted close to his property. We tried to help as we could."

He nods slowly. "Thank you."

"You are most welcome, sir." Elizabeth smiles.

He appears to be regaining his strength. His face looks even handsomer awake.

"Sir, there was no crest on your carriage," Elizabeth finds it necessary to inform him, "or we would have known whom to inform of your mishap. Where were you driving before the highwaymen approached?"

Now he frowns, as if consternated.

"Sir?"

"I do not remember," he croaks. He meets Elizabeth's eyes. "You said I am in Hertfordshire?"

"Yes, sir."

"I - I do not live here."

Elizabeth hid a smile. "I am well-acquainted with our neighbors. I understand you are a visitor."

"I must be."

Elizabeth nods. She lets the poor man collect his thoughts.

"Perhaps we can start, sir," she offers, a moment later, "by informing us of who you are?"

He meets her eyes. He frowns.

He takes a long, deep breath that fails to put the creases in his brow away.

"Sir?"

"I - I'm afraid I do not know."

* * *

"You fool!"

Gus shudders under their employer's rage. He did try his very best to act as instructed.

It was not his nor his men's fault that the instructions were so vague.

"I should have known it would not do to hire untrained mercenaries off the streets."

The comment sits ill with Gus. He and his boys are limited in experience - but not entirely incompetent.

"We did attack his carriage," Gus argues. "We merely hesitated regarding what to do after it had been successfully ambushed."

"Fools! Was it not clear that you were to bring Fitzwilliam Darcy to me?"

"I was not - " Whether or not they get their accounts settled at all rests fully on the pleasure or displeasure of the person before him, and Gus changes tones. "Forgive us, please. We did not all hear the same instructions over what to do with the gentleman."

"You did not kill him, I hope."

"No - no, we did not." Gus tries not to stammer. It does not feel very manly to stammer. "But he was hurt - on the leg."

"Maimed!"

"No - bruised or sprained, perhaps?"

Gus watches carefully as their employer pauses to think.

"I will pay half of what we agreed upon."

"But - "

"Shall I report your activities to the authorities?"

"No - no." Gus lowers his head. He will quite unfortunately have to find another employment for his boys soon. Being highwaymen truly is not all the legends make it to be!

"Go away now. My steward shall settle it with you."

"Thank you." Gus backs away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am finding tons of flaws with the story as I polish. I am sure you will find them too. These are 2-year-old drafts and it shows! Please do not read this if it makes no sense to you, hehe.


	3. Chapter 3

"I - I'm afraid I do not know."

Elizabeth frowns at his answer.

She sits slightly closer, as Mama would whenever one of the sisters is confined to bed with a fever, and touches his brow lightly.

"You do have a slight fever," Elizabeth observes.

She can hear Sarah disapproving behind her, but Elizabeth is nothing if not resolute.

"Can you inform me of my circumstances, ma'am?" The unnamed gentleman croaks. Elizabeth urges him to take another sip of fluid.

"My maid and I came upon you when you were robbed. Your attackers fled when we approached."

"And there was no one else on the road?"

"The hours are early. Workers are on the farms, and their masters are sleeping."

"But you - "

"I - " Elizabeth grins a little. "I like to wander about in the morning."

"And saving strange men."

The way he adds to her statements makes Elizabeth smile.

He is fascinating - this man.

"I think I have you to thank for my deliverance." The way he speaks is formal yet sincere. He cuts a handsome image - sitting in the tiny cot in his full traveling wear. "Thank you, Miss - "

"Eliza - "

"Miss Lizzy!"

Elizabeth glares at Sarah.

The young maid has far too much sense than is enjoyable, at times.

"Miss Lizzy?" Their handsome patient asks.

Elizabeth faces him once more. She smiles. "Yes, sir. And this is my maid - Sarah."

Sarah curtsies when the unnamed mannods at her. Elizabeth suddenly realizes she should have done something similar earlier as well.

"Miss Lizzy," he says, after emptying his cup. Elizabeth signs for Sarah to fill it again. "What hour is it?"

Elizabeth looks a little sheepishly through the sole, small window. "Near dusk, I'm afraid."

"I have been unconscious for very long."

"Rather."

"And there has been no sign of rescue?"

The gentleman is frowning now. Elizabeth feels disappointed for his sake.

If he were indeed an important person - as his clothes and manner of speaking implied - why have there been no one searching for him? Why did he come in a rented carriage? What were the robbers discussing before Elizabeth and Sarah approached?

Was he a secret French spy, after all?

"I'm afraid not, Monsieur - " Only then did she realize she had no name for him.

He smiles wanly at her. "I'm afraid I cannot return your favor of an introduction."

"It is common for people to lose recent memories after a harsh hit on the head," Elizabeth says what has been on her mind for the past half hour. "Shall I call you something else? Mr. Carriage? Or, perhaps, Monsieur Unknown?"

He chuckles softly at her, even as he winces. He lifts his right hand to his temple as if in pain.

"I'm afraid I cannot help you there, Miss Lizzy." He sighs. "Though perhaps we can agree that I do not need a name for the time being."

She smiles a small smile, though a sad one.

What a pity it was for her to be unable to name the alluring creature!

He seems to sense her disappointment.

"You called me Monsieur Unknown just now." His voice is gentle. "It is a name I can embrace for the time being, I suppose."

Elizabeth feels lighter at the declaration, her smile immediate. "Thank you, Monsieur!"

It is a silly little thing - but it did improve their circumstances, in her mind. At least, he was no longer the nameless stranger.

"Miss Lizzy, the hour is late," Sarah and her good sense reminds.

Elizabeth looks down shyly from Monsieur's kind gaze.

"Do you need to rest, sir?"

He shakes his head slowly - before his face twists into a grimace.

"Your head aches," Elizabeth observes.

"Yes."

"You ought to rest."

"Yes."

And it did not take much effort afterwards to convince him to lie down again.

He sleeps and snores within a minute.

"Miss Lizzy," Sarah starts.

"Please return to Longbourn and inform Papa that I will be staying with Charlotte at Lucas Lodge tonight."

"Miss Lizzy!"

"I will stay in the sitting room," Elizabeth insists.

She has played the hero to the most intriguing man she has ever met. She is not about to do things halfway.

"But Miss Lizzy."

"Nothing untoward will happen. We cannot leave him for the night. You may return after informing Papa."

Sarah hesitates, but Elizabeth is her mistress, after all.

"Very well, Miss Lizzy." And she packs to go.

"Thank you."

* * *

His mind aches, the world spinning just slightly more with every angle he tilts his head. There are snippets of memories - an upturned carriage, a crying girl. There are hallways. There are lakes.

He groans when he sits fully upright on the cot, sore from head to toe.

"Monsieur!" The young woman who spoke to him the last time he was awake flies into the room. "Are you well?"

He regards her, head pounding. She is sweet and kind, pretty and lively. She is dressed like a gentleman's daughter, but his surroundings do not imply a gentleman's home.

"Miss Lizzy," he calls, when he remembers her name.

She curtsies. "Monsieur Unknown."

Yes, he is unknown - unnamed and unkempt. He is a man at the mercy of his mystery maiden.

A ray of light pierces through the window. It is morning. He seems to have slept the night away.

"Miss Lizzy," he croaks. "Has anyone come for me?"

She looks at him with a sadness in her eyes, almost as if she feels empathy for his plight.

She shakes her head. "No, sir."

He nods. "Thank you."

"We can help you, sir," she is quick to offer. "My father is a gentleman of these parts. We can ask him to search for who may be searching for you."

He smiles at her kindness.

"I did not do so before - because I feared for your safety," she adds.

His safety - is a concern.

Why was he attacked all on his own? Who was he?

He must admit her concerns were wise.

He swallowed the thickness in his throat. He feels marooned on an island - with a pretty siren who is eager to help, but who is armed with next to nothing that can.

"Where is your father?" He asks Miss Lizzy.

"Our home is not far, and it is early. Only he would be awake at this hour. We can leave when you wish to, Monsieur."

He nods. There is a gentleman. The gentleman can help.

And perhaps the gentleman can relieve him of the distracting young woman that is Miss Lizzy.

It is dangerous for a young lady to save unknown people off the streets - but he is thankful that she did approach him. Who knows what the highwaymen could have tried to do to him?

"Shall we leave, sir?" Miss Lizzy asks. She is wide-eyed, excited. She is undaunted by his mysterious identity.

He nods. "If I may use the chamberpot first, madam, I would be much obliged."

She blushes prettily the entire time she excuses herself and flees the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems that I need to apologize not just for Lizzy's entire lack of logic but my own as well. I seriously wonder where my mind was when I first drafted this story. There are plot holes in literally every other sentence. Lol.
> 
> In other news, I started a Facebook page with updates for my books. Please search Books by Iris Lim (the profile picture is my monogram) and like and follow! Thanks for all your support :)


	4. Chapter 4

"And you have brought him - _here_?"

Lizzy shrinks from Papa's gaze for a slight moment before meeting it. "Yes, sir."

"Where is he?"

"Sarah is waiting with him in the hallway, sir."

"And your mother?"

"Mama and the girls are all still asleep. I knew it would only be you, Papa."

Papa frowns, fingers flying to pinch at his brow. Lizzy knows she's angered him - but what else can she truly do?

Then Papa sighs.

"Let me see that I have the facts straight, Lizzy-child. You found this man attacked by a band of robbers, you scared away the robbers, and you lied about spending the night at Lucas Lodge when you were in fact tending to him at the shelter?"

Lizzy offers a half-hearted smile. "I nursed him to health, Papa."

"And who is this man?"

"He - doesn't know."

Papa's frown intensifies further. "He has made no identification of himself?"

"He had a strike to the head, it seems - and he fails to remember who he is."

"And this is not a trick?"

"He has been very gentlemanly, Papa."

Her father sighs, his shoulders rolling back against the back of his wooden chair. "What shall I do of you, Lizzy?"

"Help me to save him?"

Papa laughs, but his laughter sounds as if it is tinged with helplessness.

"Let him in, then," Papa instructs while making a small wave with his hand.

Lizzy nods, relieved and excited, before she flies to the door to her ward in. He limps inside Papa's study, with remarkable strength considering his state the day before.

"This is my father, _Monsieur,"_ she introduces happily.

"Mr. Bennet," _Monsieur_ greets.

"Sir." Papa nods. "My daughter informs me that you have been attacked in our parts?"

"It appears so, Mr. Bennet."

"And you have no knowledge of your own identity or purpose?"

"It shames me to admit, sir - but I am afraid I am entirely at a loss considering my location, my reasoning, and my name."

"Are you mad?"

"I would hope not, Mr. Bennet."

"Have you any recollection whatsoever of why you might be on a road outside my property in Hertfordshire?"

 _Monsieur_ shakes his head with a sad smile.

Papa sighs. "What _do_ you know of yourself?"

"I can speak, sir, and care for myself. My leg is injured but employable to a certain degree. I have found these notes upon my person and would be glad to compensate your family for any difficulties I may cause." _Monsieur_ walks forward to place some papers on Papa's desk. Papa peruses the offering with a careful eye.

"These should help trace your sources," Papa remarks.

 _Monsieur_ nods. "I would gladly employ such methods - though Miss Lizzy has mentioned that there may be a risk involved if something I had been unwittingly carrying had been the very cause of the attack."

Papa thinks openly. Lizzy waits.

Then Papa nods. "My daughter can be so very wise and so very childish one moment to the next."

Lizzy feels her own smile turn sheepish after Papa sends her a stern look.

Then Papa speaks to _Monsieur_ again. "Have you been comfortably situated this past night?"

"I have had no cause to repine, Mr. Bennet." _Monsieur_ bows. "I am most grateful for Miss Lizzy's wise assistance."

Papa nods the kind of nod he does when he is still weighing matters in his mind. "I'm afraid the rest of my family may not be of equal sense as the one daughter you have met, although it is a sense that I will now doubt forever from this day on. If your life is indeed at risk, then it would be best to contain the news of your knowledge to the smallest number of people as possible."

"I'm much obliged, Mr. Bennet."

"If you would, sir, I would prefer that you continue to remain in the cottage where you rested the night before. My daughter and her maid can deliver daily portions to you, and you may feel free to request whatever you may require."

 _Monsieur_ nods gallantly. "I thank you, Mr. Bennet."

Papa nods, frowning now. "It is a puzzlement, I say. But, as my daughter has dutifully informed me, your bearings reflect that of a gentleman. There should be people searching for you soon enough. And when they do, we shall do our Christian duty in considering if they look for you with good or evil intent."

"I pray for the Lord to reward your kindness, good sir."

Now, Papa smirked. "I warn you not to cross me - lest I encourage the pursuits of those who wish you ill."

"Papa!" Lizzy interjected.

"Your father means well, Miss Lizzy," _Monsieur_ turned to speak to her. There was kindness in his tone. "I hope I shall not be of any burden to your family."

Papa's laughter is loud enough to make Lizzy worry that Mama, or at least Mary, would woke.

"I dare say you should start hoping, sir, that my adventurous Lizzy not be any burden to you!"

* * *

"We have brought scones today."

He smiles at the sound of her voice and turns quickly to greet her.

A fortnight has passed since he first came to, and the simplicity of his cottage - and the fair maiden that came with his victuals every day - have weaved for him an existence that feels both foreign and familiar all at once. He's tried to remember his life before, to the best of his abilities, but no memories ever surface past the attack on his carriage.

Miss Lizzy indicated to him last week the exact spot where she had found him.

Unfortunately, no memories returned.

And with every passing day, he wonders slightly more if it would be best to report himself to the authorities. He is fast becoming a burden to the Bennet family, and he wishes to simplify things for them, if not for himself.

But the beautiful smile on Miss Lizzy's face as she prances towards the cottage carries not even a hint of burden.

Her smile is all cheer, all joy, and all delight.

It is a smile he has come to adore more by the hour.

Can a man without an identity marry? What would the bannsp say?

He shakes his head to clear the whimsical thoughts. Miss Lizzy is kind and vivacious, with enough energy to light up any room. There is no reason to suspect that there is anything unusual about the way she relates to him.

Perhaps he is merely distracted due to seeing her and her alone for nearly half a month.

"Miss Lizzy," he greets her with a smile and a bow. He's forgotten his name, his home, his everything - but some manners have remained with him instinctively. "Thank you for your commitment to my convenience."

"You are most welcome, sir." She beams at him before dropping an almost girlish curtsy on the grass. He smiles. She makes him smile.

Be it rain or shine, her presence instantly warms him in a deep and soulful way.

"Has your father found anything?" He takes the basket from her.

"I'm afraid not." She shakes her pretty head. "There have been no reports of a missing London gentleman in Hertfordshire. And the one we heard about three days ago has already been found."

He sighs, subtly, and nods. "Thank you, Miss Lizzy."

"I wish I bore you better news, _Monsieur_."

"It is no matter," he assures her.

It does matter, quite frankly. He longs to know who he is and where he is from. He longs to rediscover his life that he may reconcile it with his current existence.

No matter who he may be, he is indebted for life to the Bennet family - to Miss Lizzy, above all.

He glances at the young lady who constantly fills his mind these days.

Would she agree to continue their acquaintance upon his recovery? Can he call on her family - to call on her?

He clears his throat. "There are enough scones here for the two of us. Your family has been generous."

"May I steal one?"

He is puzzled. "You do not have some for yourself?"

"Well, Papa and I do not wish for Mama to know of you - so we always say I need more food for the daily trips I take." She bites her lip in a shy manner. She is utterly delightful. "So Mama constantly asks cook to make the food she knows I prefer."

"And all the items you have brought me - have been your favorites?"

"All except the clothes." She gestures at the old garments he has been wearing of late. His gentleman's clothes, having been thoroughly cleaned, remain folded beside his bed - a link to an unknown past. "They were from Papa's younger days."

He looks down at himself. The sleeves and hems of both shirt and trousers hang ridiculously short on his person.

But he is thankful, beyond thankful.

The Bennets are helping a complete stranger, after all.

"And what of the food?" He asks Miss Lizzy, once his mind returns from their musings on his wardrobe.

"The food?"

"You say you have been telling your mother to have it prepared for you."

"Yes, it is the simplest way to explain it."

"You do not dine then? She does not expect you to break fast with them - for she expects that you consume instead all the food in your basket - food that you bring instead to me?"

Now, she appears uncertain. "Well, I am not always hungry - "

"You must be famished!" He takes out two freshly-baked scones, the best looking ones in the bundle. "Here, please - steal as many as you wish."

She smiles eagerly when she takes them from him, her eyes childlike and sweet. "Thank you, _Monsieur_."

"I'm afraid I ought to be the one thanking you."

"Shall you not have one as well?"

He looks down at the basket and its overflowing contents. He looks at her.

"I am not hungry," he says.

She pouts her pretty little lips - and he finds himself hungry in an entirely different way.

"I shall feel strange eating all on my own."

"Miss Lizzy, you have been giving me food meant to be for _you_ for so many days. It is only right that I - "

"I did so willingly!" She leans forward across the bench. She smiles - bewitchingly. "You simply _must_ eat when I do."

"And why should I?"

"Because I declare it so."

"And it is my duty to obey you, milady?"

"You have no one else to obey, after all." She laughs. She is vibrant - a glorious sunflower in a field of green. "Shall we play house?"

He _does_ wish to play house with her.

He probably wishes to do so in a much more realistic way than she does, however - and that cannot be done until he knows who he truly is.

"Miss Lizzy," he says her name indulgently.

"Yes, _Monsieur_? Do you have any argument to proffer?"

And perhaps it is the lilt of her voice - or the spark in her eyes - or the curve of her smile - but something, _something_ compels him to lean forward towards her, his lips drawing themselves to hers. She gasps when she realizes the trajectory of his movements. Then she turns her face slightly, though without wholly pulling away.

He contents himself with a gentle peck against her cheek.

She is blushing when he pulls back.

Her voice is high, almost airy, when she says, with a hurried curtsy, "Thank you for the scones, _Monsieur_."

"It is my pleasure. I thank you for all the sustenance these past days."

"It is my pleasure," she mutters - squeaks, really. She doesn't meet his eye, but he knows he sees a smile on her lips. "I shall see you tomorrow, _Monsieur_."

"I look forward to the hour, Miss Lizzy."

And as she scurries away from the cottage, back towards the main house at Longbourn - he wishes, with all of heart, that he would learn his true identity soon - that he may offer for the fascinating Miss Lizzy.

* * *

The afternoon feels long today, without Miss Lizzy for company.

The way she reacted at his approach this morning - her blush at his kiss, her smile at his smile - gives him hope that this entire ordeal with his lost memories may yet yield good results. No matter his former identity, he's found contentment in the simple life he's lead in the past weeks. And while he longs to know who he, his desire to do so is becoming incrementally more motivated by a desire to spur his life forward rather than to wheel it back.

He wanders around the grounds near the cottage.

His back aches slightly from the uneven bed he's been using, but it is a small issue in the grander scheme of things.

He looks forward every morning to Miss Lizzy's visits. And as she grows ever dearer to his heart, he cannot help but feel anxious over the uncertainty of his future.

How can he claim to provide for a woman when he lives upon the charity of her father? How can he demand Mr. Bennet to allow her daughter to stoop to marrying a lost and penniless stranger?

He pauses at a clearing, ruminating upon every fact he can recall.

He remembers snippets at times - echoes of a young child in an older lady's arms - visions of grandiose ballrooms and stifling candles.

He must have mingled in the first circles - but his recollections fail him when he attempts to decipher his role in such events. He could be a landowner, respected gentry and master of his own domain. He may have been a mercenary, paid to keep an eye on social events. He may well have been a servant, though he feels far more educated than most servants are wont to be.

He barely knows his own age - and whether or not he should expect the existence of family members who may be searching for him.

But even if such family members exist, they have been doing a rather bad job at searching for him.

The sounds of horseshoes on muted grass reverberate from a clearing ahead.

"Darcy!"

He looks up at the sound of a man hollering. What is a 'Darcy'?

His vision, improved since his mishap, deciphers the image of two gentlemen on horseback riding towards him.

"Darcy, is that you?" The man on the left - the broader one wearing red - talks while urging his horse forward.

"Are you speaking to me?"

"Darcy!" The other man, fair and ginger-haired, exclaims.

"By Jove, we've found him." The man in red dismounts, runs over, and embraces him. "Have you been here all this time?"

It is all too strange, all too fanciful.

"Darcy, why have you been hiding here?" The taller man gestures at the cottage.

 _Monsieur Stranger_ , with great struggle, attempts to piece together the significance of the conversation before him.

"You know me?" He asks.

Both men's eyes grow rounder before him.

"Darcy, are you - "

"My name is Darcy?"

There is a worried look on the faces of both men. They regard each other silently for an entire minute or so.

Then, at last, the taller man speaks. "I am your cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam of His Majesty's army. I came to the knowledge of your disappearance one week ago. I suppose I know the reason now for your total lack of communication this past fortnight."

 _Monsieur_ nods mutely.

"And you - are Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hereby officially declare this story a crack fic (not that I do drugs, of course). Anyone who wants to point out logical inconsistencies or character stupidity (hello, Mr. Bennet and Lizzy) are encouraged to do so only if they fully understand that I am, in no way, taking this story seriously anymore.
> 
> Continue reading at your own risk because it gets even stupider from here. Happy Monday!


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